


City of the Dead

by Tea_and_Sympathy



Series: Northern Sky [4]
Category: History Boys (2006), History Boys - All Media Types, History Boys - Bennett
Genre: Boys Being Boys, Dakin has a back story - which explains some stuff, Friendship, Gossipy Boys, Heart warming escapism for crazy times, I hope, I'll get back to Dakin and Irwin next, Love sick boys, M/M, Quite cheerful in spite of the title, Scripps' mum is darlin' again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:55:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23232835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tea_and_Sympathy/pseuds/Tea_and_Sympathy
Summary: In which Dakin and Scripps hang out in a graveyard, chat about love, sex, and death and remember why they're best mates in the first place.Dakin stops him with a hand on his arm, turns him - places a palm on his chest. He gets up close, in his inimitably hypnotic way. Scripps can feel his own heartbeat reflected back at him and leans into the tangible evidence of his visceral self. “Not a word”, Dakin says, in a low purr, “Look, I know you’re beating yourself up over the God thing, but this gorgeous thing you’re walking around in - made in God’s image - it’s built for pleasure".
Relationships: Stuart Dakin/Donald Scripps
Series: Northern Sky [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642348
Comments: 16
Kudos: 18





	City of the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> This has taken me so long and I didn't mean it to be so long, but I got carried away. I hope I found Dakin's voice - he's quite hard to do - so changeable. I know nothing at all about Sheffield Cemetery apart from what I've read and I've mapped London cemeteries I know on to it - apologies. This has been a lovely distraction in this mad world. I hope it does the same for you. Stay safe lovelies. I'm sort of wishing I hadn't started writing this series in the present tense - it's becoming irksome. But I'm too lazy to change it now. All comments gratefully received and appreciated. I'm working on Wednesday...

**Tuesday**

When Don Scripps stumbles, bleary eyed, into the kitchen in the middle of Tuesday morning, his mother is bustling about – her usual, cheerful energetic self.

“Morning, love”, she greets him, “you’ve slept in late”.

He’s a morning person, like his mother, but he’s grown used to it being on his own terms – this feels like an ambush, “I know, sorry – I'm not sleeping too well”. He sits at the kitchen table and she pauses her chores to sit with him.

“Don’t worry, it must be strange being home. It’ll take time to adjust and you can take a while before you get a summer job... or is there something on your mind?”

And she’s away with the old one two... straight to his soft underbelly, before he’s got his guard up. But he deflects admirably, “Oh, loads, you know how it as at three in the morning".

“I do, love. Tea? Toast?”

“You don’t have to do it for me, mum”.

“I know I don’t have to; I want to – you're never too old to have your mum make a fuss of you. I’ll tell you what, when you get to the stage of being a parent to your own parents, you really want your mum sometimes – like she used to be. So, take advantage of me while you can”.

And she rounds off with the guilt trip; Scripps can’t help but admire it. She drives him mad and he adores her in equal measure. “Yes please, then. Thanks. Sorry, mum – I'll go and visit Nan. I could take Pos, he’s good with old people”.

“Is he?”

“Yeah – we were talking about it yesterday. He...he... he’s very understanding”.

“What an odd conversation for you two to be having”.

He smiles at her, “You’d be surprised what we find to talk about – I always am”.

“It’s good to know people who surprise you. Nan would like that, love. It was nice to see David yesterday. He seemed cheerful. Are you seeing him today?”

“No, he’s got something on with his family – tomorrow though, I hope. I think”

She puts her hand oh his arm from across the table. “Is it David?”

“What?”

“On your mind”.

His mouth runs ahead of his brain, while he tries to work out where the next one’s going to land. “Um... I suppose...err... a bit. How do you mean?”

“I thought you were worried about him before – you said he was a bit down, so I was surprised he seemed so chipper yesterday”.

“Chipper?”

“Yes... chipper”.

A standoff then. He laughs and shakes his head at his mum, rubbing his eyes. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were fishing. Could I at least have that cup of tea before I get the Spanish Inquisition, I’m barely awake”.

She gets up from the table to put the kettle on, “Sorry, love. I don’t mean to pry. I miss all your comings and goings with Stuart and David and the others. The house is too quiet sometimes”.

The phone rings out in the hall and Scripps can’t help thinking he’s been saved by the bell.

*******

“Hello”.

“Scripps, it’s me. I know we said Friday, but are you doing anything today?”

“Oh, have you been released from your bondage as a sex slave?”

“Yeah, worst luck, so I need entertaining”.

“Tart. Okay. What do you want to do?”

“Not much really. Mooch about. Talk”.

“Oh, I see”.

“What?”

“You need an audience”.

“Pack it in, Scripps. Actually, I need a friend and you’re it”.

“I don’t know why I don’t take up divinity and have done. Do you need absolution or something?”

“No. Look, I’d just like to see you, if that’s okay with you”.

“Okay, fine. Sorry. Necropolis? Two?”

“See you there”.

*******

It’s their habit to meet in the Victorian Cemetery - a decaying paean to the bureaucracy of death. It once appealed to an adolescent preoccupation with futility, but it’s become a comforting retreat for both of them now. It’s less, mocking the hubris of their fathers’ fathers, more taking comfort in the eventual insignificance of everything. With their shared taste for the arch and arcane, they insist on calling it the Necropolis – City of the Dead. Dakin’s father calls it poncing about in graveyards. But he would.

Dakin finds Scripps sitting on a bench outside the Egyptian gate, waiting for him. He greets him with, “Here we are, here we are, here we are again”. So easy to fall back into familiar routines and be boys again.

Scripps smiles and replies, “Are we downhearted?”

And they chorus, “No!”

As tradition dictates, they trace the outlines of the ouroboros with their hands before entering - once they would have avoided cracks in the pavement for fear of being eaten by bears. They head up the hill past the Dissenters’ Wall, shoulder to shoulder; going nowhere but going there together.

“So, how was it then, your lost - what - thirty-six, hours?”, Scripps asks.

Dakin grins, “I don’t think I’ve got the words, Scripps – fucking intense though. And some intense fucking”.

“Stu, please!”

“I thought you wanted details”.

“I do… and I don’t”.

“You’re repelled but strangely drawn...”

“...It’s magnetic”.

“That’s sex for you”.

“So, you’ve made up for lost time then?”

“Yeah – sex and talking; talking and sex. Hardly any sleep. And he’s gone off to London - something to do with his new job – I hope he slept on the train”. Scripps gives him a quizzical look. “What?”

“I’m unaccustomed to this caring aspect of your personality. It’s disorientating.”

“I’m not a complete bastard you know”.

“I know, I’m sorry. I don’t suppose I’d be here if you were”.

“I’ll tell you what though, I don’t think that man led the life of a monk when he was a student. He knows what he’s doing”. He picks up a stick from the edge of the path and swipes at the overgrown grass. “Me... I’m making it up as I go along”.

“One has the impression he’s not a man to do things by halves”.

“He’s certainly all or nothing”. Dakin breaks ranks and runs up the hill – a sudden burst of energy needing release. He lets out a yell, “Aaaaaaargh, Scripps. It is soooo fucking good”. And waits for Scripps to catch up with him. “I don’t know why I left it so long; I’m an idiot”.

“True”.

“You’re not supposed to agree with me”.

“But he left it too. You’re a pair of idiots – I told him as much”.

“But he’s not me, is he? He assumed I’d moved on; I knew he wouldn’t”.

Scripps snorts, “You arrogant git”.

“Not really. He was wrong – I hadn’t. Only difference between us is, I know the effect I have on people, and he doesn’t. It’s not arrogance, it’s perspicacity”. He sounds out the syllables – striking a gravestone with his stick at every one - and then falls silent. Scripps can see the cogs whirring, but lets nature take its course.

Eventually...“Scripps?”

“Uh huh?”

“There’s something I need to say and I think you’re the only person I can it say it to”.

“I’m flattered – I think. Get on with it then”.

“I’m in love, aren’t I?”

“Yep”

“Fuck”. He sounds both awed and defeated.

“Scared?”

“Terrified”.

“It’s all very grown up”.

“I don’t think I can give him what he wants though and I don’t want to...”

He trails off. Scripps gives him time to finish, but nothing comes. It occurs to him that teasing Dakin about his uncharacteristic compassion has not been entirely helpful. He ventures, “Stu, you’ve already admitted to being in love – what else is there? It's really okay”.

Dakin looks at Scripps with a grimace of something approaching shame. “I don't want to hurt him, but I probably will...”

“Oh, I see. You know, Stu, that’s not entirely out of your hands.”

“Well you’re a better person than me, aren’t you?” Dakin snaps back.

“I didn’t say that. I just mean... you choose it ... or not. But you have to take responsibility for your choice, whatever it is.” Scripps has spent half the night thinking about taking responsibility for his choices – he feels entitled to pontificate.

“Yeah, I know, you're right, I will... I’ll try anyway. We’ve talked about everything - what happened, what didn’t happen, what could have happened. But not what could happen, might happen - what we want to happen. I’m twenty, I like girls - I don’t want to give that up. I don’t think I can. I don’t think I can give up other people, full stop. On the other hand, I want him so much – it's driving me fucking mad”.

As he builds his monologue, his tone shifts from embarrassment to irritation – telling himself a story he can believe. “I don’t know how to square this circle at all. Shit – why am I making life so difficult for myself? I don’t need this”.

Scripps lets the dust settle, then asks, “Why are other people always sex to you? There are other relationships you can have you know”.

“I know. I mean, I don’t want to fuck you, do I?”

“I bet you’ve considered it...” Scripps is joking, but Dakin turns a grin and raised eyebrows on him. He’s not altogether surprised but, for appearances sake, exclaims, “Oh my God, you have! You complete…”

“...What? It’s only thoughts. Thoughts never hurt anyone. And it passes the time”.

“But it would practically be incest!”

“Quite”.

They’re both laughing now. Scripps says, “I can’t work out if you think that’s a good thing or a bad thing”.

“You know what they say – try everything once apart from Morris Dancing and incest.”

“Dick”. This accompanied by a punch on the arm. “How do you know he expects you to give up anything?”

“I don’t. I mean, it’s necessarily going to be a bit semi-detached isn’t it, so who knows? He’s going off to The Metropolis – he’s going to meet all kinds of sophisticates. He’ll be bored of a provincial rube like me by Michaelmas”.

Scripps can spot an obvious fish for a compliment, so gives him what he needs. “You don’t really think that, but I think you’re going to leave a lasting impression whatever”.

“God, I hope so – that’s what I’m working on”.

“You know, I needed to talk to you yesterday and, what with you being otherwise engaged, we had to have an imaginary conversation. Do you know what you said?”

“Something pithy and perfectly expressed, I’ll wager".

“But, of course. You said, ‘enjoy what you’ve got now, for as long as you’ve got it – tomorrow will take care of itself’ – or words to that effect. It was probably more scatological”.

Dakin considers this and gives an approving nod, “Huh – I give good advice”.

“You do”. Dakin doesn’t ask what he wanted advice about - of course not - he needs to talk about himself some more. And Scripps is rather enjoying having Stu admit to needing him. “Anyway, why did you want to see me, other than my being scintillating company? It sounded like you had something on your mind”.

“Yeah. I need to show you something. He gave me something”. Dakin rummages around in his pocket and pulls out a shiny talisman. “Look”.

“A key. He gave you a key to his flat?”

“I know. I can’t decide if it represents freedom or captivity, but it’s symbolic of something”.

“Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar”.

“I am finding it rather disconcerting, if I’m honest. I keep taking it out and staring at it”.

“What did he say about it?”

“Well, mostly it’s because he’s away and he knows I need a bolt hole from my dad”.

Dakin sits down on a bench. It’s falling apart and it’s not clear it will take their weight but Scripps sits with him, a little gingerly. “Your dad? What’s happened now, what’s he done this time?”

“Not him, her - she’s finally left him and we’ve no idea where she is… That’s not true. I have half an idea where she is and I don’t want to hang around, in case he beats it out of me”.

“Fuck. Did you know she’d gone?”

Dakin is kicking the ground in front of him – it makes him look twelve and causes alarming ructions in the rickety bench. “Yeah, she wrote to me a couple of weeks before the end of term, so I knew she wouldn’t be here. I thought about not coming back but...”

“Tom?”

“Yeah, couldn’t keep away from the man. I couldn’t stand the... space... anymore”.

“The lacuna”.

“What?”

“It’s what Tom said – about you. Not having you was a lacuna - a missing part, an unfilled space, a void”

Dakin furrows his brow in thought and stares at Scripps, “That is the mot juste - a lacuna.” He laughs, “Something to do with manuscripts and missing pages. Yes, that sounds like Tom”.

“Doesn’t it? Anyway, what did she say?”

“Told me not to worry and she’d be in touch as soon as she could. She always said she’d go. How many times have I heard her say ‘When Stuart goes, I’m going’? I never believed she really would. But I’m a big boy now – apparently”.

“How’s your dad taking it?”

“Oh, the fucker’s all sentiment and self-pity. And it’s not like he won’t have someone to comfort him – probably someone not much older than me. He doesn’t even want her; he just doesn’t want anyone else to have her. Everything’s a power trip with him”.

Scripps doesn’t burden him with the obvious comparisons. “Are you still afraid of him? You’re bigger than him now”.

“Doesn’t feel like it. In my head he’s huge and fucking terrifying. Can you imagine if he knew about Tom? Christ, he’d kill me... or him... or both of us”.

Dakin stands suddenly and with some force, causing a seesaw effect at Scripps’ end of the bench. Dakin doesn’t notice. He marches up the hill, still talking, and Scripps follows. “You know what pisses me off? My mum was right and, the older I get, the more things it turns out she was right about”.

“About what in particular?”

“She said sex is better with someone you give a shit about”.

“I bet she didn’t say that”.

Dakin turns around but continues walking – backwards, arms outstretched. “She said someone you love, but you know”.

Scripps finally catches up with him. “Is it?”

“Sex with someone you never want to see again and would probably cross the street to avoid can be pretty fantastic – but it has the edge, definitely. And I wondered how she knew – she's been with my bastard dad forever. Then it dawned on me – Christ, she does know. That’s why she’s suddenly so brave, thank fuck. And that’s where I think she’s gone – he's a childhood sweetheart from before my dad messed up her life... I wish she’d let me know she’s okay at least”.

“She probably thinks the less you know the better. How did they get together in the first place?”

“Well, maths isn’t my strong point, but I’m what you could politely call a honeymoon baby and, impolitely, a little bastard. A shotgun-wedding. You can imagine him, can’t you - all charm and swagger?”

“I can, yes”.

Stuart stops dead and turns to face his friend, saying, “Alright. I know. I’m not proud of it”. And sets off up the hill again.

"I didn’t mean...”

“...Forget it. I’m glad she has someone, but I wish she didn’t need another bloke to get out. Could be out of the frying pan into the fire".

“A woman’s lot, Stu”.

“It’s not right though, is it? You know when Totty was talking about it and Timms said it wasn’t our fault?”

“Yeah.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

“How so?”

“I hate to tell you, Scripps, my old chum, but we’re the men now”.

“Are we, fuck”.

“Yeah? Look around you”. He squats by a small, insignificant headstone. “Look at this one. Arthur - nineteen years old, died 1912. Beloved Son. Probably TB or some other mediaeval thing. Never got to do anything”.

“Missed the war though”.

“Which would probably have killed him anyway”. Dakin rolls his eyes and uses the stone to push himself back up again, “He should have been spared, so at least he could have died a hero. I bet he thought he was a man”. He walks over to what look like a matching pair of stones. “And these two, look, not much older - 1919. Probably the flu. Got through the war and died of La Grippe. They look like a pair – friends do you think? I bet these boys didn’t piss around being educated for years – heads full of fucking poetry - they did stuff... they were men... God, we’re useless.

“We’ll have to content ourselves with being ornamental”.

“Yes, at least we’re pretty. Anyway, my mother clearly thinks I’m a man now, she’s abandoned me”.

“You poor, motherless boy, shall I clasp you to my matronly bosom?”

“Go on then”.

Scripps throws an arm round his friend's shoulders, from which he doesn’t recoil. It’s as much for himself as Dakin; Scripps feels himself on shifting sands and Stu is a solid foundation. He asks, “Stu? Is that why you got so pissed and aggressive on Saturday”.

“Partly. Tom too, but yes. Sorry about that”.

“Why the fuck didn’t you say? Everyone thought you were being a boorish dick – you were, but… We are your friends you know. You don’t always have to be that person”.

“Dunno – sometimes it feels like I’m watching myself from a long way off, giving a bravura performance… so, I got rat-arsed and I wanted to be with someone who wants me”.

“You wanted to be with someone who loves you”.

“Piss off”. He tenses a little but doesn’t push Scripps off. “And, when I turned up, I laid into him and called him every name under the sun because, as previously noted, I am an idiot. But it worked out okay. It worked out ...really well... thanks to you, no doubt”.

“He does love you, you know. He says you make him feel brave. I didn’t have to talk him into it”.

“He hasn’t said so”.

“Have you?”

“No”, his tone implies, ‘of course not’.

“There you go then. I told him you deserve each other”.

“It sounds like you had a proper heart-to-heart. I’d like to have been a fly on the wall”.

“You were, well, on the settee – just not compos. I like him. I have revised my opinion. I found him surprisingly sympatico”.

Stu smiles to himself, “Yeah, he is. Is it weird I want to be there when he gets back?”

“Waiting for him? Yeah, it’s weird. But you don’t need my permission. When is he back?”

“Tomorrow night. I’d like to meet him off the train but...”

“But what?”

“Well, you don’t think about it with a girl but I went with him to the station when he left and it was so frustrating not to be able to do anything. Just had to stand there and say bye like... like it was nothing. I couldn’t touch him and I hated it. It made me fucking furious, If I’m honest”.

“There’s only one thing you like less than being told what to do – being told what not to do”.

“True”.

“Be careful, okay. Don’t get beaten up for being bloody minded”.

“I’ll try. Can’t promise anything. So, that’s why I want to be there – indoors, where I can... you know”.

“Yeah, I know”. He squeezes his friend’s shoulder and considers he’s getting quite good at this - but Dakin extracts himself to fish around in his pocket again.

“Scripps, I need to give you Tom’s number, so you can get hold of me, and because… If she wants to speak to me, she’ll call you and you know where I’ll be”. He must have planned this because he has the number written down on a scrap next to the key – he thrusts it at Scripps. “Give her the number if she calls, please. But don’t give it to my dad. If my dad calls, eat the fucking number”.

“Okay. I’ll guard it with my life”.

“Do me a favour, would you, Scripps – don’t let me turn into my dad. If you see it happening, shoot me”.

“You’re on. But I think you’ll be okay, Stu - you’re not so bad”.

“Jesus, damned with faint praise”.

“I promise you’re not going to turn into your dad – as you say, I won’t let you”.

“Thanks”

They’ve reached the top of the hill and emerge out of the shadow of the trees. Dakin makes a time honoured remark about moving forward into broad, sunlit uplands and asks, “Anyway, what was imaginary me giving you advice about?”

“I thought you’d never ask... Posner”.

“Doesn’t he love me anymore. How will I cope?”

“Shut up Dakin”.

“Sorry. What then?”

“Well that, actually. No, he doesn’t love you anymore”.

“Well it was never going to last was it – it was only a crush. Good for him. Has he found some ethereal beauty who wafts about in a big white shirt to spout poetry at?”

“Stu, fucking well shut up and listen or I’ll be forced to lamp you”.

“Promises, promises... okay, lips sealed. What?”

“Me and Pos.”

“You and Pos, what?”

“Are you going to make me spell it out?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, I am.”

“You shit. You already know.”

“Well, I didn’t, but I do now. Shit! Didn’t see that coming”.

“Your – what are we meant to call him... Boyfriend? Lover?... did".

“Really? Did you tell him and not me? And the bastard didn’t tell me. I’ll be having words”.

“I didn’t tell him, he guessed. He’s quite perceptive you know. God knows what he sees in you. Anyway, don’t. It’s called discretion. He probably thought I’d want to tell you myself”.

“How the hell did that happen anyway? Didn’t know you were interested in him... in boys... men... in anyone. I thought you were having this love affair with Jesus”.

“I was. I am. It’s just... oh, God, Stu...but Pos… he’s so… I think, maybe it’s always… maybe I’ve always…”

“...It’s okay. Who am I to judge? He has kind of grown up – he is cute, in a girly way – clever, funny. He should push all my buttons really”.

“Don’t you bloody dare! Don’t ruin it for me, Stu. I can’t be second best to you anymore. Please”.

“Shit, you’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Yes”.

“Okay. Understood. You know there’s no competition though – you and Pos are soulmates. It’s very sweet".

“Don’t take the piss”.

He looks affronted, “I’m not! I mean it. I’m actually kind of moved. Dumbstruck, but moved... huh, there’s a thing. Give me details, now”.

“You? Dumbstruck? That’ll be the day. And now who’s living vicariously?”

“Tell me now or I will snog you in public... now I know that’s an option…” And there’s that grin again.

“You bloody would too, wouldn’t you? No boundaries, you – I think it’s an affliction”.

“Didn’t your mother tell you not to mock the afflicted. Come on, I’m lovesick, I need something to keep me going”.

“He’s been gone less than twenty-four hours”.

“I know. It’s pathetic. Tell me!”

“You’re such a gossip. Okay. But I will personally kill you if you breathe a word. Deal?”

“Deal.”

They’ve turned the corner now, heading back downhill under the cover of trees, alongside the brook. Scripps takes a deep breath, steeling himself against making the enchantment real - by naming it. “We went out on Sunday up to the river and, to cut a long story short, he kissed me and, you know, the world sort of turned upside down and everything made sense. I don’t mean a snog, just a tiny kiss, but it was...”

“...Significant”.

“Yeah. Besides, I kissed him back, so that did it”.

“Ah, yes, that would be significant”.

“So, he came over yesterday and things developed”.

“Will you not be so fucking coy”.

Scripps laughs. Best to get it over with quickly then – rip the plaster off. “We ended up snogging in the kitchen and then we went to my room and we got interrupted by my mum”.

“Fuck! She walked in on you?”

“No, just came back and we had to make a French farce of getting back to the piano before she got the groceries in”.

“Yeah, but what were you doing in your bedroom – I noticed you drew a discreet veil”.

“Nothing you’d find outrageous, but I did manage to put my T shirt on inside out and my mum noticed. I was glad of the sun burn, I can tell you”.

Dakin laughs, “I didn’t like to mention the Belisha Beacon in the middle of your face – very attractive. What’s he like then – is he a good kisser?”

“Are you seriously asking me that? Are you a 13-year-old girl?” He wants to say - perfect. He wants to say: gentle; passionate; sweet and sharp - fizzing like lemon sherbet in my brain. But instead he says, “Oh, alright then... very nice. Besides, you had your chance to find out”.

“Nice? Nice! Call yourself a man of letters? Descriptive powers deserted you?”

“Well, I don’t have a lot to compare it with and maybe I don’t want to describe it to you. But it felt good to me”.

“I bet it did. You had your T-shirt off though – never thought I’d see the day. But you know I don’t find anything outrageous”.

“No? Try this. How about Pos phoning me in the evening and talking me through some things he’d like to have done if we hadn’t been interrupted”.

“He didn’t!”

“He bloody did! Which is fine for him - he can plug the phone in in his room. I was standing in the fucking hall with my family going back and forth”.

Dakin looks ready to pop with laughter. He pops. It takes him a while to regain composure. “Little devil. I suppose you could have told him to stop or hung up – if you didn’t like it”.

Scripps has waited patiently for Dakin’s hysteria to subside but can’t resist his own lopsided smirk at the memory. “I suppose I could".

“But you were enjoying it too much.”

“He didn’t get that scholarship without being good with words. And, as he says himself, he has a fantastic imagination. But, on Sunday, he told me he wasn’t ready for sex and then all this stuff – it was enlightening”.

“Not ready to do it isn’t the same as not ready to think about it – or talk about it”.

Scripps throws his head back in exasperation, searching the heavens for answers, “And now I really want to see him. God this is awful – I'm a walking cliché - can’t sleep, concentrate, permanently horny”. He gives up on the heavens - returns his attention to Stu, “And, you know what? I think my mum knows”.

“No! How could she know?”

“She’s a bloodhound, she’s fucking clever and she has no outlet for it”.

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I always liked your mum”.

“You fancied my mum. Bloody hell, you used to flirt with her when you were fifteen!”

“Just spreading a little sunshine, Scripps. And she’s a very attractive woman. She’s basically you with tits”.

“I am not discussing my mum’s tits with you”.

“They’re very nice ti...”, Scripps glares at him. “Okay, sorry, point taken. So, the being permanently horny? Don’t tell me you’re not going to do anything about it? Christ, don’t tell me you haven’t done anything about it? Scripps...?”

There is a long, long pause - Dakin staring Scripps out, daring him to answer - which, eventually, he does “I had to; Pos told me to”.

Dakin’s mouth falls open, “He did what?”

“Made me promise to - so he would know that’s what I was doing when we got off the phone...erm… thinking about him”.

“Oh...the... little... and you promised?”

“I’m a man of my word, Stu. Don’t you dare repeat this!”

Dakin stops him with a hand on his arm, turns him - places a palm on his chest. He gets up close, in his inimitably hypnotic way. Scripps can feel his own heartbeat reflected back at him and leans into the tangible evidence of his visceral self. “Not a word”, Dakin says, in a low purr, “Look, I know you’re beating yourself up over the God thing, but this gorgeous thing you’re walking around in - made in God’s image - it’s built for pleasure. All of it. In ways you haven’t begun to imagine yet. And, remember Arthur back there? He probably died a virgin; that’s a sin in my book”.

He gives Scripps a grin and pushes him away. “If I carry on like this, I really will kiss you and then where would we be?” Scripps can feel the imprint of Dakin’s palm over his heart, like a brand. “Good old Pos – I am really rather impressed. The boy’s a genius. It’s brilliant. Okay, I’m a bit outraged and a bit jealous and a bit... wow”.

“Jealous? Who are you jealous of?”

“I’m not even sure”. He makes a gesture to indicate his head exploding and they both laugh.

“But Stu, I’ll have to push him away.”

“What? Why? Don’t do that!”

“No, not now... I can’t... I’m too selfish”. Scripps is the only person alive who thinks the word selfish justly applies to him. “But after the summer, when we go back – he needs to find out who he is without us. And he needs to start liking himself - like I do. Like we all do... don’t we, Stu?” Scripps needs Dakin’s good opinion, now more than he ever has.

“We fucking love him, Scripps. You really are a better person, aren’t you? Here I am saying I have no control over hurting Tom and you’re going to deliberately hurt yourself for Pos’ sake”. Do whatever you think’s right. But he’ll come back to you - you know he will”.

“Will he? I really hope so. How do you know?”

“Because he won’t find another you, will he? There isn’t one”. Dakin’s smile is affectionate and honest and Scripps could cheerfully kiss him too. He sends up a silent prayer he’s right.

By now, they’ve reached the non-conformists' chapel with its grand, making-an-entrance steps and look-at-me columns.

“Dakin says, Shall we – for old time’s sake?”

“Really? It’s so adolescent. You said we were men now”.

“Go on - one last time. After that we’ll commit to being grown-ups".

They exchange a glance and, saying nothing more, set off, full pelt, haring up the steps. At the top, they spin around the columns and stand, arms out stretched, declaiming at the top of their lungs,

“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!”

Disgruntled pigeons are briefly dislodged from their guano encrusted roosts - but the disaffected world turns relentlessly on.


End file.
